


A Little More After, A Little Less Glow

by sohox



Series: Troubadour [2]
Category: Rhett & Link
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Reader Insert, Rhett is a rockstar, indulgent as fuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-13 14:21:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28779702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sohox/pseuds/sohox
Summary: They spent the day trying to steal moments between obligations, frantic kisses in any dark corner they could find, hands caressing every inch they could reach, trying to map each other, commit every dip and curve, every degree of heat to memory, for the time when they won’t be in each other’s space every day anymore.
Relationships: Rhett McLaughlin/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Troubadour [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2109837
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13





	A Little More After, A Little Less Glow

**Author's Note:**

> In Troubadour, you remembered the last time...
> 
> This is Rhett’s version of those events 
> 
> _  
> You’re immediately taken back to the last time you were together, weeks ago, when he had you pressed against another wall, shoulders scraping against rough brick, begging for harder and deeper, and more, please. The ghostly memory of the sting along your shoulder throbs through you, the same way it did for days after the two of you parted, sparking heat in your core every time you touched the roughed up skin._
> 
> _You think he might be having the same memory, how the palm of his hand scrubbed hard against the brick as he kept you both upright._

It’s the last day of tour and there’s exactly 29 minutes between when her band walks off the stage, and the time that Rhett’s band has to start their set. He’s never been so grateful for the tiny bit of fame they both have, that makes it so neither of them have to break down or set up their own equipment. 

They spent the day trying to steal moments between obligations, frantic kisses in any dark corner they could find, hands caressing every inch they could reach, trying to map each other, commit every dip and curve, every degree of heat to memory, for the time when they won’t be in each other’s space every day anymore. The thought of time ticking away so rapidly has Rhett’s heart aching, has his lungs burning as he runs through the venue looking for her. 

26 minutes. It’s not enough. Not nearly. And she’s spent the last week ignoring his request for her to spend a few weeks with him in LA while he’s recording. He knew she’d say no. She always does. She makes it very clear, every time they find themselves on tour together, that this isn’t a relationship. This is convenience, this is scratching an itch, without the fear of breaking each other’s hearts. On their first tour together, Rhett was on board. Her logic made sense. No strings, just a good time without having to work for it every night. A friend who could get the job done when needed, and who you didn’t have to make excuses to when you had to sneak out the next morning. 

23 minutes. Fuck! She’s not in the green room, she’s not in the loading bay. His phone vibrates in his pocket, but he’s ignoring it. He knows that when he finally checks it, he’ll find a string of texts, a lecture from Link for keeping everyone waiting. 

He’s running through the venue, breath coming in sharp pants, and he’s running out of places to check. She wouldn’t have gone to her bus yet, she wouldn’t ghost him like that. He’s sure of it. He finds the service wing, dark and damp and full of little nooks and crannies to hide in. There’s a sound behind him, and he turns around just in time for her to slam into him. She’s out of breath too, lower lip red and wet like she ran across the venue with it trapped between her teeth. 

“Rhett.” She breathes out and then she’s climbing him, hands around the back of his neck, and he lifts her into his arms, her legs wrapping around his hips in an instant. .

21 minutes and the kiss they fall into is all consuming. It’s the heat and the taste and the blood rush in his ears that he knows he’s going to miss. It’s the feeling of her pressed tightly against him that no amount of sexting or filthy photos sent between them can replicate. The thought of not having it for who knows how long is enough to make his knees weak. He spins them both around, pressing her back against the brick wall hidden in the shadows. 

The hallway is deserted. It probably won’t stay that way, but there’s no time to find someplace else and he doesn’t fucking care. He will take what he can get. They’re both still breathing hard, and his lungs are burning and he wants to pause to collect himself, but the ticking clock is like fire licking at his heels. She’s making desperate little noises against his lips and every one of them are like a punch to the gut. He kisses her hard, to taste her, to shut her up. Because every noise she makes brings him one step closer to begging for things he’s not allowed to have: labels and declarations and feelings they swore were off the table.

“Rhett, please.” She pants against his mouth, her hands falling between them to his belt buckle. She’s a pro, pulling it open with skilled fingers and the zipper is down and he’s in her hand before he can even get his mouth on her neck. He presses her harder against the wall, using one hand to hold her steady as he snakes one hand under her skirt and up the inside of her thigh. There’s no chance in hell he's going to put her down, lose her warmth and weight and smell. Instead, he grips the scrap of cloth concealing his prize and he pulls hard until it tears and his path forward is free and clear. 

She crushes her mouth against his and together they get him lined up. He focuses every thought on how she‘s soaking wet, scorching hot; his thoughts are trained on the way she envelopes him when he pushes forward, burying himself inside her. They both moan out loud, the sound mingling between them like a song. Her tight pussy is already clenching around him and he has to pause and breathe deep, burying his face in her neck, before it’s all over. 

“Fuck, baby, wait...I just need…” 

15 minutes and she’s not listening; she’s undulating her hips, rocking against him, just barely, trying to build momentum where she’s pinned to the hard brick. Her fingers dig into the back of his hair, nails dragging over the nape of his neck, and she’s pulling his face up to look him in the eye. 

“Fuck me, Rhett. Make me cum on your cock one more time.” Her eyes are blazing, pulling his mouth down to her, and his restraint snaps. He pushes her further up the wall, adjusting his grip around her thighs so he can slam his hips forward. She takes and takes and takes every slam of his hips, crying out each time he bottoms out in her. His legs are screaming, arms burning from the effort of keeping them both up, but he couldn’t stop now if his life depended on it. 

11 minutes and her hands are in his hair, his lower lip is between her teeth, and she’s so much smaller than he is but he feels consumed by her. There’s no part he wouldn’t give her if only she’d take it. But she’s determined to stay detached. She’ll take his kisses and she’ll take his cock and she’ll take his last few minutes, but she won’t take his promises, no matter how badly he wants to give them to her. 

His phone is buzzing in his pocket again, and she’s moaning into his mouth with each thrust and her hips are rocking against him and she’s so tight around him. And the vibration would almost feel good if it wasn’t an insistent reminder of how soon their time is up. 

“Please don’t stop.” 

“They're looking for me.” He’s so close to the edge, but he can’t give in yet, because then it’s over and then she’s gone, and he’s not even sure when he’ll have her again 

“Not yet,  _ please _ .” She’s pleading, and her fingers are tangled in his hair at his nape. 

He’s shaking his head. It's the only promise he’s allowed to give her. “Not going anywhere, baby. You’ve got me.”

His palm is rubbing raw against the brick, his knees are screaming, and she’s so tight and she’s clenching around him and tipping her head back, her neck is just there for the taking. His lips are on her, and he’s so deep in her and they’re finally coming together, for the last time. 

5 minutes and she’s all over him, her wetness and her lips and the smell of her hair and he's just supposed to just say goodbye? He’s supposed to pretend like he’s not going to fall apart the moment she’s not holding him together?

She’s pushing at his shoulders, unwrapping her legs from around him, and he sets her on the ground, but he’s not letting go. Not yet. “Come see me in LA, a’right?” And he’s not begging, but he would, if he thought she would change her mind.

There’s moisture in her lashes, and her eyes are rimmed pink. Her soft lips are swollen, a quiver tugging at the corner of her mouth. He’s trying not to read too much into it. She’s nodding, her breath hot against his cheek and he’s kissing her one last time. 

“Yeah,” she says. “Yeah, LA. I’m sure I’ll be there.” 

It’s not a promise, they don’t do those, but he’ll take what he can get. 

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for liking, commenting and subscribing! You know what time it is!
> 
> Find me on tumblr: @soho-x


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